


just want you here tonight

by astralscrivener



Series: modern au: squad up universe [7]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Party, Duet, Fluff, Happy, I have no excuse except, M/M, This is literally just Klance Christmas fluff, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, klancemas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-26
Updated: 2017-12-26
Packaged: 2019-02-21 22:17:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13153149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astralscrivener/pseuds/astralscrivener
Summary: “Is that peppermint chapstick?” Keith asks, arching an eyebrow when they pull apart.“Spearmint, actually,” Lance answers, grinning. “Better study up on your mints.”“Maybe you should tutor me,” Keith suggests.Keith goes to the McClain family party on Christmas Eve.





	just want you here tonight

**Author's Note:**

> THIS IS ENTIRELY SELF-INDULGENT
> 
> it takes place during the (currently unposted as of me posting this fanfic) 77th chapter of my chatfic, [squad up](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12199533/chapters/27702090), so if u don't wanna read squad up for background, all you need to know is that lance and keith are in high school, have been dating since may of sophomore year, and are grossly in love, and really wanna get married as soon as lance turns 18 in july. also, keith and shiro are cousins who live together. keith's good at photography for some reason. also, he and lance have promise rings. 
> 
> OKAY HAVE FUN, READ ON, MERRY KLANCEMAS, YEAH THIS IS GOING UP AT LIKE 12:30 AM ON DECEMBER 26TH BUT I'M ON THE EAST COAST SO IT'S STILL CHRISTMAS IN THE REST OF THE US

            Lance has been counting down every second since his last text from Keith, that he was leaving the Holt house and making his way over to the McClain residence. From the energy in the room—the way aunts and uncles sneak glances at him, sip their drinks, and return to family business; the way his niece and nephew anxiously peer out the windows at the light snowfall starting up, and the winding road beyond; the way everyone grows quieter each time they hear a car go down the street—he can tell he’s not the only one excited for his boyfriend’s arrival.

            Lance watches the flakes twisting through the air outside of the window—he’s been perched on the couch directly underneath it ever since the last text. From here, he has a clear view of the neighborhood; of the Christmas lights dotting most houses, some setups more elaborate than others; of the cars lined up and down the street, slowly disappearing underneath snowfall; of the new car making its way down the road, headlights illuminating the window for a brief second.

            It’s a red Jeep, one Lance would recognize anywhere, and it drives by his house, parking almost two houses down, in the first available space it sees. Lance calmly rises from his seat, pulling his jacket from where it hangs on the banister.

            “Keith’s here,” he calls over his shoulder to his family, doing his best to keep his voice collected. He opens the door, steps out into the chilly night air, and shuts it behind him.

            Then he’s off running.

            Lance tears down the sidewalk as the engine cuts out on the Jeep, headlights winking out. Keith steps out of the driver’s side and makes his way around the front of the car. He goes to pull the passenger side door open when Lance launches himself at him.

            “Keith!”

            Keith looks up, eyes widening, smile spreading across his face, bright expression easily outshining the lights on any one of these houses. He opens his arms just in time to catch Lance, the two of them spinning around as soon as they collide. Keith, tasked with keeping their balance, stumbles, and they lurch, Keith’s back hitting the side of his car—not that either one of them mind, seeing as they’re both giggly messes, faces buried in each others’ necks.

            “Holy shit,” Lance breathes. “I missed you.”

            “We just saw each other two days ago,” Keith responds, laughing lightly, drawing back to look Lance in the eyes.

            The self-indulgent staring doesn’t last for very long before Lance takes Keith’s face in his hands and kisses him right then and there. Keith reaches underneath Lance’s unzipped jacket and wraps his arms around Lance’s waist, tugging him closer to steal all the warmth he can.

            “Is that peppermint chapstick?” Keith asks, arching an eyebrow when they pull apart.

            “Spearmint, actually,” Lance answers, grinning. “Better study up on your mints.”

            “Maybe you should tutor me,” Keith suggests, winking before he turns away to open up the passenger side door, giving Lance no time to stammer out a response. “Help me out here, will you?”

            “Wh—you _brought things?_ ”

            Lance peers incredulously over Keith’s shoulder before the shorter boy thrusts two platters at him.

            “Yeah, I did,” Keith says, holding three platters of his own. He steps back from the car and uses his foot to kick the door shut, precariously balancing a tray on his arm as he locks the car. “You said some of your relatives got me stuff, and I didn’t have time to go shop for all of them individually, but I _did_ have time to hit the grocery store and do some last-minute baking—”

            “Keith,” Lance interrupts, still standing on the sidewalk clutching his platters, while Keith starts for Lance’s house, “you _really_ didn’t have to.”

            “Don’t be ridiculous,” Keith calls over his shoulder. “Of course I did. I’m not gonna just show up late to your house with _your_ relatives, eat your food, take your gifts, and leave without contributing anything.”

            Keith keeps walking, and for a moment, all Lance can do is stare after him. Keith stops when he realizes Lance isn’t following and turns around.

            “You comin’?”

            “Y-You…,” Lance stammers. The glow from the streetlights and the Christmas lights strung up around the neighborhood casts Keith in pale oranges, reds, and yellows, the snow stuck in his dark hair sparkling. Lance swallows thickly, brain fried, the rest of whatever he might’ve said dying in his throat.

            Keith must understand.

            He smiles and backtracks to Lance, until they’re face-to-face again. “You would’ve done the same if the roles were reversed, and you would’ve been ten times as extra about it. Now come on—your family’s waiting.”

            Keith turns back around, and Lance still hesitates. He tries to burn this moment in his memory forever—to memorize exactly how Keith looks, how the light casts a halo around him, the flush of his cheeks from the cold, the grin he still wears on his face. Then his feet finally get moving. He jogs the first few steps, until he’s walking side-by-side with Keith. When they hit the front steps, Lance goes up first, and opens the door to let Keith into his house.

            “Hey everyone,” he calls when he steps inside, shutting the door, “Keith’s here!”

            Shouting goes up almost immediately as Lance’s niece and nephew, Clara and Javier, appear in the entry between the dining room and living room.

            “Tío Keith!” they shriek in unison, flinging themselves at him, racing past relatives who step out of the way to let them through.

            Lance gestures for Keith to pile his trays onto the ones he already carries—he obliges, and then stoops down to gather Clara and Javier into his arms, while Lance makes his way to the kitchen, some of the other relatives in the room offering to take a few trays and lighten his load.

            “Hey guys,” Keith greets the kids, ruffling Javier’s dark hair. “Got all dressed up for Christmas, I see.”

            The kids giggle, Clara pulling out of Keith’s arms to twirl around in her red dress. “Yeah! How do we look?”

            She strikes a ridiculous pose that Javier tries to mimic. Keith laughs at the two of them.

            “You guys look great.”

            Clara and Javier bounce up and down at that, then part, startled, as one of Lance’s siblings joins the small crowd. Keith rises to his feet as Lance’s sister Emely, Clara and Javier’s mother, pulls him into a brief hug.

            “Glad you could make it,” Emely says.

            “Heard you told someone off at dinner and ended a relationship,” Keith says with a smirk.

            Emely snorts, giving Keith a light shove as they break up the hug. “Couldn’t have that asshole here when you got here.”

            “Aw, I could’ve taken him,” Keith jokes.

            Emely rolls her eyes, and then drops her voice and leans into Keith. “While I’m sure Lance would’ve loved to watch you deck the shit out of Jackson, we’re all glad you weren’t here to deal with any verbal abuse from him. Anyway…about time Tía Carmen finally decided to get rid of him. We’ve only been urging her to dump him for four years now.”

            She flicks her eyes over her shoulder to make sure Lance’s aunt isn’t in earshot—sure enough, Tía Carmen stands in the kitchen, talking with a few of Lance’s other aunts and uncles, completely unaware of the conversation. Emely smiles conspiratorially at Keith before walking away. A few other relatives move in to greet Keith in Emely’s departure—siblings and cousins, aunts and uncles. One of the last people to get to him is Lance’s mother, who sweeps Keith into a crushing hug.

            “So glad you could make it, _hijo,_ ” she says to him as she squeezes the life out of him.

            “Wouldn’t miss it, Mrs. McClain,” Keith says, smiling.

            Lance’s mom pulls back to swat at his arm. “I told you—call me Sofia!”

            “Leave him alone, Mamá,” Lance says sarcastically, coming up behind his mother.

            Mrs. McClain throws an exaggerated glare in Lance’s direction, and then gestures to him as she looks back at Keith.

            “Has he been treating you well? Do I need to have a talk with him?”

            Keith laughs for what feels like the millionth time in the span of a few minutes. As someone who spends too long isolating themselves, turning down social situations in favor of spending time in quiet, secluded spaces, it’s easy for him to forget how much he loves being at the McClain house for the holidays. Here, in a house swirling with laughter and music, and the delectable aroma of food, and the warmth of bodies and the fireplace, his walls fall down all at once.

            “He’s been treating me fine,” Keith says, reaching out for Lance. Lance lets Keith pull him to his side. Keith’s head falls on his shoulder as their fingers intertwine, but Mrs. McClain still looks shocked at Lance.

            “Just _fine?_ I raised you better, Lance!” she says, wagging a finger.

            Keith can’t help it. He laughs harder. “It’s—it’s okay! He’s been treating me great.”

            He looks sidelong at Lance, studying the silhouette of his face, framed and illuminated by the multitudes of decorations in the house. His heart pounds a little faster in his chest, and the smile on his face widens.

            “He’s…I’m glad I have him. Don’t know where I’d be without him,” he reassures Lance’s mother as he turns back to her.

            She smiles at both of them. “I’m sure. He talks about you a lot.”

            Lance makes a strangled noise. “Ah, Ma—”

            Mrs. McClain waves him off and continues to smile pleasantly at Keith. “Some days it’s like he’s got no off switch. Did you know one day he asked about marrying you?”

            Lance buries his face in his hand and groans. “ _Mam_ _á—_ ”

            “Yeah, I knew about that,” Keith says, and snuggles up closer to Lance. “I’ve…actually had similar discussions with my cousin, so.”

            Mrs. McClain should probably say something, like that they’re too young to even be thinking about that, but she just smiles and nods at the two of them.

            “Well, whenever you decide this wedding is, I want my invitation first.”

            She leans in, kisses Keith on the cheek, pats his shoulder, and walks away, calling over her shoulder. “Come mingle, get some food!”

            “I will,” Keith promises.

            He turns to Lance, eyebrows raised. “So.”

            Lance groans.

            “She didn’t need to tell you that.”

            He drags his hand down his face, staring daggers at his mother’s back. Keith giggles and presses a light kiss to Lance’s cheek.

            “I thought it was cute.”

            Lance shakes his head. “Unbelievable.”

            He looks down at their entwined hands, and then his eyes travel over the rest of Keith, realization suddenly dawning on him.

            “Dude—take the jacket off! Stay a while!”

            “Sorry,” Keith says sarcastically, shrugging his jacket off. “Didn’t get much of a chance. Your family loves me so much, they all had to come and say hi.”

            Lance takes Keith’s jacket and _tsks._ “This freaking family, man.”

            He starts upstairs, toward another part of the house, and Keith follows, pulling off his hat and scarf, shoving his scarf inside of the hat. Lance enters a bedroom full of coats, looking around with a frown. The coats are scattered everywhere—the bed is completely covered, as is a chair in the corner. A few coats lie discarded on the floor. Others are draped over whatever bits of furniture they can find space on—the dresser, bedside tables, and one even rests on top of a TV.

            “Literally, just throw it on the floor,” Keith says. “I’ve gotta throw it in the wash, anyway.”

            “I’m not throwing your jacket on the floor,” Lance responds. He heads for the door, grabbing Keith’s hand. “Come on, we’ll put your stuff in my room.”

            Lance’s room is much neater and much quieter than the rest of the house. Keith shuts the door behind them, mostly out of habit, while Lance neatly hangs Keith’s jacket off of one of the posts on his bed. Keith leaves his hat on Lance’s desk, and finally pulls his gloves off…only to reveal his leather fingerless gloves underneath. His promise ring stands out starkly against black, on the middle finger of his left hand.

            He glances at Lance, smiling softly when he spots the same ring in the same spot on his boyfriend’s hand.

            “I’m really glad you showed up,” Lance says quietly.

            Keith watches him—Lance sinks to his knees and begins searching under his bed for something.

            “I wasn’t gonna leave you high and dry on Christmas,” Keith replies with a shrug that Lance can’t see. He pulls the chair at Lance’s desk out and sets himself down on top of it, legs crossed, hands folded in his lap.

            “No, seriously,” Lance responds. “You didn’t have to leave the Holts’…but you did. Just to come hang out with my family.”

            He still doesn’t look up, grumbling to himself about finding something—Keith hears several things clatter against the floor, and Lance swears under his breath.

            “Well,” Keith says, “hopefully, in a few years, this’ll officially be my family, too. Or maybe less than a year from now.”

            Lance whines. “You can’t just _say_ that! I’m trying to make _you_ flustered, here! Or I’m gonna be!”

            Keith raises his eyebrows and leans back. “Oh?”

            “Yeah— _a-ha!_ Gotcha, you little sucker—”

            Lance reaches deeper under the bed, and seconds later, produces a small box wrapped in red. He turns it over in his hands nervously as he rises to his feet before Keith. Keith stands, too, and Lance hands him the box.

            “I—I have more for you, actually, for tomorrow morning, but I wanted to give this to you now.”

            Lance rubs the back of his neck while Keith carefully unwraps the box. The wrapping isn’t perfect—there’s something lumpy on the side of it, and soon enough, Keith finds out why. Something red and blue falls to the floor when the gift is halfway unwrapped, and Keith stoops to pick it up.

            It’s a simple woven bracelet of red and blue thread, about an inch thick. Keith inspects it, and pauses when he sees _KK+LM_ threaded inside of a heart. His chest tightens as he looks up at Lance.

            “You made this?”

            “Yeah, I…uh…” Lance rolls up his sleeve to an almost-the-same bracelet around his own wrist. “I made us matching ones. B-But keep opening the gift. There’s something else.”

            Keith doesn’t protest. He picks up the half-wrapped gift and rips the rest of the paper off.

            “I thought you might like it, but if you don’t, I have the receipt—”

            “Holy shit—Lance, shut up, I _love_ it.”

            In his hands, Keith holds a box containing a red Polaroid camera. He starts to open the box but pauses, and sets it on the desk. Then, he turns and thrusts his wrist out at Lance.

            “I’m definitely gonna be using that camera tonight and tomorrow, but first, can you help me get the bracelet on?”

            Lance obliges, nimble fingers tying the bracelet gently around Keith’s wrist, the same wrist on which Lance wears his. Keith’s skin buzzes every time Lance’s fingers brush against him, and when Lance is done tying the knot, he surges forward, nearly knocking Lance over as he pulls him into a hug. Unlike Keith earlier, Lance is steady on his feet, and manages to keep his balance.

            “Sorry I didn’t bring you anything,” Keith says into Lance’s neck. “All my stuff for you is back at my house.”

            “It’s okay,” Lance replies. “I didn’t expect you to bring anything except that cute face of yours.”

            Keith makes a high-pitched noise, digging his fingers into Lance’s back. “You…stop that!”

            “No,” Lance says. “Now, come on—let’s get back downstairs before my mom yells at us for avoiding social interaction.”

            “Hold on,” Keith says, breaking up the hug and darting for his camera box. “Let me get this thing open and make sure it’s all good to go.”

            He makes quick work of the box and of setting up the camera properly, and then raises it to face level.

            “Smile,” he instructs Lance, and Lance realizes a little too late what’s going on.

            Keith laughs at the developed photo, taken at the exact moment of realization. Lance can only pretend to be indignant for a few moments before he starts laughing at the goofy look on his face too, even going as far as mimicking it, making Keith laugh harder.

            “Alright, alright—yeah, I look ridiculous, now let’s get back downstairs.”

* * *

            The rest of the evening is spent flitting between relatives as people at the McClain house get progressively drunker. It begins with a few uncles, and then progresses to a few aunts, and even a handful of Lance’s siblings. Keith and Lance both turn down offers of alcohol, opting to sit back and watch the others drink themselves silly. At some point, someone shoves a Santa hat on Keith’s head, and he doesn’t bother taking it off.

            The volume of the music gradually goes up, too, and so does the number of trays of dessert being passed around. Keith’s own offerings go quickly, most people at the party eager to consume the cookies and one coffee cake he’s brought. At some point, a wild karaoke dance party begins in the middle of the living room, as Lance’s brother Alejandro calls for everyone to clear out of the way.

            Lance’s family ends up squeezing together on couches or wherever they can find space on the floor or against walls, the entire living room filling quickly. Lance flings himself into one of the two armchairs in the room, beating out an uncle and another one of his sisters. He sends smug looks in their directions, and then flicks his eyes to Keith. He raises his eyebrows and pats his lap.

            “You’re ridiculous,” Keith says, and sits in his boyfriend’s lap anyway. He leans back, slinging an arm around Lance’s shoulder, while Lance puts one around his waist.

            After being awake for so long, on so little sleep, Keith begins nodding off. It doesn’t matter that the living room is loud, and Lance’s aunt is shrieking more than she is singing—it’s warm in here, and _Lance_ is warm, and comfortable, and _safe._ Keith’s at peace here, and Lance must sense it. Or maybe Keith’s head falling on top of his is the giveaway.

            “You wanna get going soon?” he whispers, low enough that only Keith can hear him.

            “What time is it?” Keith mumbles back.

            “Twelve ten,” Lance answers.

            Keith sits up straighter, in an effort to make it appear like he wasn’t just falling asleep on Lance. “Nah, we can start leaving once someone else leaves.”

            “Dude,” Lance says, “you’re ready to knock out. _Clara and Javier_ aren’t even ready to knock out.”

            Lance nods toward his niece and nephew—sure enough, they’re still awake, scream-singing along with Lance’s aunt.

            “They’re probably hopped up on sugar,” Keith mutters.

            “Okay, true, _but—_ ”

            “Lance!” Emely interrupts from across the room, eyebrow raised challengingly. “You wanna give this a go? Wanna prove yourself better than Tía Isabel?”

            Lance’s aunt waves around the plastic microphone in her hand. Lance opens his mouth to reject the offer, prepared to say that Keith’s tired and he probably shouldn’t move when he’s acting as his boyfriend’s pillow, but Keith gets to his feet, and then extends a hand to Lance.

            “I think we’re gonna make it a duet,” Keith calls to Emely.

            Lance gapes.

            “You— _you!_ ”

            Keith smiles. “C’mon, Lance, what’s one song?”

            There aren’t a ton of things Lance is weak for.

            Kittens, yes. Space, yes. A trip to the beach promising all-day fun in the sun, yes. And Keith? Smiling down at him? Hand outstretched? Cast in soft orange by the fireplace, the lamps, and the Christmas lights? Lance is weak _as hell._

            He takes Keith’s hand, and Keith yanks him to his feet, while someone in the room somehow comes up with a second mic.

            “What song do you want?” Emely asks, flipping through whoever’s iPhone’s been set up on the speaker.

            “Keith, I swear—” Lance starts, only for Keith to cut him off with, “Mariah Carey. Find the acoustic version, if you can.”

            A chorus of _oohs_ and _aahs_ goes through the room, a few of Lance’s relatives making remarks about how romantic or cheesy his selection is. Lance glares at him, cheeks a deep scarlet.

            “I can’t _believe you._ ”

            Keith grins, much more awake now, and begins the song.

            He and Lance spend the entirety of the song trying to out-cute the other, and make it a point to invade each others’ personal space as much as possible. They take turns with each line, progressively getting more flustered as the song goes on. They both claim the last line, foreheads pressed together, intense gazes locked on the other.

            As soon as the last chords fade away, they get smacked in the face with mistletoe.

            “Now kiss, you fools!” one of Lance’s other brothers, Hugo, shouts with a laugh, outing himself as the perpetrator of the mistletoe-throwing.

            Lance shakes his head, smiling all the while, and tosses his mic back to Emely. Then he grabs Keith’s face and kisses him hard. Keith throws his arms around Lance’s neck and pulls him in closer, while the rest of the family cheers them on.

            “ _Feliz Navidad, chico de las estrellas_ ,” Keith whispers when they break apart.

            “Oh, you little fucker,” Lance whispers back, followed up by a softer, “Merry Christmas.”

            The party begins winding down not long after. Lance’s mother, one of the few remaining sober relatives, holds hostage the keys of anyone too drunk to drive themselves home, especially now, when the snowfall on the ground has gotten thicker. Other people make their way out—Emely, her husband, Clara, and Javier are among the first to leave, the kids latching on to Lance and Keith’s legs.

            “ _Feliz Navidad!_ ” they both shout, as Lance and Keith bend down to hug them goodbye.

            “Good night, Tío Lance! Good night, Tío Keith!” Javier says, and Clara echoes him, before they let go and bound out the door after their parents, shouting about how Santa won’t come if they don’t get to bed.

            “I think we’re gonna get going,” Lance says to his mother, quietly, while other relatives exchange goodbyes. He slings an arm around Keith’s shoulder. “Mulletman over here is exhausted.”

            Mrs. McClain nods, hugging the both of them at once.

            “You text me when you get there, alright?” she says. “The roads are gonna turn bad soon, if they haven’t already. Whoever’s driving, drive carefully.”

            “I will,” Lance says, before Keith can speak up. He shoots Keith a silencing look, like he’s not gonna argue over who’s bringing them back to Keith’s place. “ _Te quiero, Mam_ _á_.”

            “ _Te quiero, mis hijos_ ,” Mrs. McClain replies. “Keith, it was wonderful to see you again.”

            “You too,” Keith responds. “We’ll have to get together again soon. Like, officially, and not just me coming over after school or work.”

            Mrs. McClain nods vigorously. “Yes. And maybe bring Shiro along, too. I’m sure he and I can exchange plenty of gossip about the two of you.”

            Lance groans. “Again?”

            “Yes,” his mother responds, and lightly pushes the two of them. “Now go. _Feliz Navidad._ ”

            Keith and Lance echo her wishes of a Merry Christmas and head upstairs to gather Keith’s things. Keith pulls on his jacket, and Lance sets to wrapping his scarf around him like a parent would a child. Keith lets him, using the time to put on his gloves and beanie. Once he’s free of Lance’s fussing over how the scarf should be arranged, Keith picks up his camera and stuffs it into his pocket.

            “Can you help me with these?” Lance asks.

            He’s kneeling next to the bed, pulling a small pile of gifts out from underneath, gifts that are undoubtedly for tomorrow morning, for Keith, Shiro, Allura, and Allura’s dad.

            “Yeah,” Keith replies.

            Minutes later, they’re heading downstairs, arms full of carefully wrapped presents. Mrs. McClain pulls open the front door for them and sends them off with a few more well-wishes. They’re plunged into silence as the door shuts behind them. By now, most of the street has gone to bed, half of the lights unplugged for the night. The snow falls harder than it was earlier, coating Keith and Lance’s heads in a matter of minutes.

            Keith holds less presents and is the one to wrestle the back door of the Jeep open, so he and Lance can pile the presents inside. Once they’re done, Lance shoos Keith to the passenger side of the car, insisting upon driving and letting Keith sleep.

            “What, are you gonna carry me inside if I pass out?” Keith jokes, and he’s met with a one-hundred-percent serious, “Yep.”

            Lance starts the engine, and then lets the car idle for a few minutes while the heat kicks in. He leans back in his seat, studying Keith. Keith turns his head to the side to stare back.

            “What?” Keith asks.

            Lance shakes his head. “Just thinking about how lucky I am to have you.”

            Keith smiles sleepily. “Yeah, speaking of that—Tío Keith?”

            Lance shrugs. “They called you Tío Keith one day when they were asking about you. I didn’t bother correcting them. You’ll be an official _t_ _ío_ one of these days, anyway.”

            Keith drops his gaze, smile widening. He can easily see himself five, ten years down the line, at a McClain family gathering with a wedding band on his ring finger, hand-in-hand with Lance. Absently, his hand drifts towards Lance’s, and Lance laces their fingers together.

            “I love you,” Lance whispers, and that finally brings Keith’s eyes back to him.

            “I love you too,” Keith responds.

            They hold hands in silence, until the car is warm enough. Then Lance lets go of Keith’s hand and punches the radio on. He leaves it on the first station he can find playing slow Christmas music, and leaves the volume quiet.

            “Let’s get you home,” Lance murmurs. He pulls away from the curb, and then he and Keith are off, toward the Brogane house.

            Keith spends the whole ride jerking himself awake every time he finds he’s drifting off. Lance has to rouse him to get out of the car when they arrive back at his house, where Shiro’s car already sits in the driveway, dusted in snow.

            Keith’s too tired to get the front door open, and hands the house keys off to Lance. Lance goes about opening the door quietly, and ushers Keith inside, shutting the door behind them.

            “I’m too tired to go upstairs,” Keith mumbles, shedding his jacket, gloves, scarf, and hat. He ditches the jacket and scarf on the banister, while he stuffs his gloves in his hat and leaves it on the ground nearby. Lance puts his things down on top of Keith’s.

            “Wanna sleep on the couch?” Lance offers, and Keith nods absently.

            Lance looks Keith up and down and shakes his head. “You’re gonna pass out right there. Hold on.”

            Keith doesn’t bother protesting as Lance scoops him up, bridal style, and carries him into the living room, where the Christmas tree is the only source of light. Lance sets Keith down on the couch and climbs on next to him, yanking the blanket from the back of it and tugging it on over the two of them.

            “You’re warm,” Keith mumbles.

            “Go to sleep,” Lance whispers, kissing Keith’s forehead. “Good night.”

            “Mm…night…”

            “Merry Christmas.”

            “Merr…mmm...merr crisis…”

**Author's Note:**

> okay bye gonna go do more writing bc i'm on vacation and i have requests to work on and fics to update good night


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